


why would you be kind?

by ninata



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (eventually. at the end), Big Spoon Dorian, Cold times in the Emprise Du Lion, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's absolutely freezing in the Emprise du Lion, and Dorian isn't having any of it. Abel Adaar, however, is quite willing to share some warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	why would you be kind?

Dorian sat by the fire, sighing against his frigid hands. The breath did little to ease the chill, but it was better than nothing. It would’ve been better if he was wearing his armor, but most of everyone had turned in for the night. Dorian had the intention to, as well. Eventually. As soon as he stopped feeling so damned cold.

They had set up camp for the night in the Emprise du Lion, and Dorian was currently wrapped in two blankets, puffing air into his palms as a small fire crackled. He was growing less and less fond of the south every trip the Inquisition embarked on-- the Storm Coast was absolutely abysmal, the Fallow Mire had ruined two pairs of his boots, you couldn’t walk five feet in the Hinterlands without three bears coming to accost you-- he could go on, but he didn’t feel like it. Instead, he focused on trying to warm himself up. Oh, how he _detested_ the snow! If only he had focused on improving his fire magic.

To add insult to injury, the wax he used for his mustache had frozen, and he had made the painful decision to forgo it rather than keep a crispy, frosted mustache. The weather was at complete odds with him, and he was hating every moment of it. It was times like these he wondered how the Iron Bull and Varric were able to walk around with their chests exposed.

His head shot up at the sound of the sole of a boot crunching against icy slush, and whirled around until he found the source. Inquisitor Adaar had stepped out of his tent, flames held within his palm. When their eyes met, a grin spread across the Qunari’s face, and he took careful steps through the snow to sit on the log at Dorian’s side.

“Hey.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping, Inquisitor?”

“Dorian, please.”

The corner of Dorian’s lips quirked. “ _Abel,_ ” he corrected, “All the good little boys and girls have gone to sleep by now. I’d have expected you to join them.”

“Perhaps I’m not a good little boy.”

“Oh?”

Abel nodded sagely. “I’m not that little.”

Dorian stifled a chuckle, softly bumping his fist against Abel’s arm. “You know what I mean.” His hand relaxed, fingers brushing against the fabric of the Inquisitor’s shirt. Something soft and woven. Nothing fancy, but it probably did a better job of keeping him warm. His hand trailed down until it met the other’s, and fingers intertwined.

“Your hand is freezing.” Abel sounded almost offended, but he didn’t pull his hand back. Heat seemed to radiate off of him. Dorian was more than jealous, and decided to lean against his arm, trapping it into the blankets with him. “Hey! Give that back.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. It’s mine, and you won’t be getting it back.”

“I need that arm. That’s my staff hand!”

“Isn’t that a shame.” Dorian turned his attention to his captive, the dread Inquisitor’s arm.

“Why are you out here, anyway?” Abel made no effort to reclaim the prisoner arm. “Wouldn’t you be warmer in your tent?”

“Hardly. I can’t rightly set a fire in my tent, now, can I?” Dorian traced the lines of Abel’s palm, grazing over scars and scratches that littered the skin. The greyed tones were lit up in the dim firelight, a warm reddish orange that caught the angles ever-so nicely. This was the hand that didn’t have the Anchor on it, and Dorian had begun to love every freckle and blemish-- for instance, there was a freckle right by his pinky knuckle. Dorian appreciated this discovery, and turned his gaze back up to the owner of the hand.

Abel was smiling, but that smile was something Dorian couldn’t describe easily. It was full of…something. The warmth that drew Dorian to him, perhaps? If he was being poetic. Something...soft. Careful, genuine. Gentle. His mind produced word after word, but none of them seemed to fit. Tender? That was closer. Whatever it was, Dorian was taken aback.

Another word; unrestrained. Abel held nothing secret in that smile, and Dorian could almost tell his feelings as easily as Cole might. It was unnerving! Dorian had never… It was strange, to see that kind of face. Directed at him, of all people! If Abel was trying to seduce him, it was working.

...Yes, Abel, the one he’d been in a relationship with for almost a year, trying to seduce him with a smile. That was _definitely_ his intention. Dorian could barely admit to himself that Abel didn’t have any ulterior motives, and that it was simply...

A loving smile.

That was all.

Dorian fought with himself for a moment. There was no reason for him to be shocked by such a smile! There was no reason for him to let his guard down. Why was he keeping his guard up? It was just Abel. Why _wasn’t_ he? Perhaps he should crack a joke. Or kiss him. The latter seemed to be a better plan, and he took his other hand, blanket slipping from his shoulder, and let it rest on the curve of the Inquisitor’s jaw, straining to meet his lips (curse his height).

He wasn’t disappointed, but the kiss only furthered his misgivings. All this affection felt...unreal. It always did. Like it shouldn’t be happening, but here it was! Happening. Just like that. Everything that told Dorian it wouldn’t happen, dashed with a kiss. Dorian couldn’t pity himself too much if Abel was going to be so sweet. The nerve!

Abel resigned both of his hands to captivity in Dorian’s blankets, and, eventually, their lips parted.

“Dorian?”

“Yes, Amatus?”

“You can come back to my tent, if you’d like.”

Dorian smirked. “My, my. Won’t the whole camp hear us?”

“I-- no, I mean… Just so we can share a bed. You won’t be cold, that way.” That smile was back, pulling on Dorian’s heartstrings as if it were a child with a lute. “Plus, it’s easier to fall asleep, being held.”

Dorian almost couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten to hold Abel. It’d been a while, what with the traveling all over the place. He wasn’t about to turn that down.

There was something quietly rising in his chest. Something that matched the warmth Abel exuded, something that belonged with it. Something about the man made Dorian act like a lovesick teenager all over again, and he felt...stupid, really. He had forgotten the cold, drawn in by Abel’s affections. He was certainly good at distracting Dorian. Dorian’s head dipped, leaning into the body that had turned towards him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to rein himself back together.

“I’d like that.” Dorian said softly, and he didn’t have to look up to know that Abel’s smile had grown. The two of them stood up, Abel putting out the fire, Dorian gathering his blankets, and walked back to Abel’s tent close enough for their arms to brush (making a stop at Dorian’s for his pillow). Dorian successfully ignored any straggler scouts that watched with mouths agape. It proved to be much warmer pressed face first into the thick fabric of Abel’s nightshirt, nose resting against his shoulder, arm falling asleep under the weight of the larger man. He couldn’t complain because it was everything he needed; something small and simple and _his_. A moment that stood triumphant above the others, sneering at Dorian’s past and gloating about its good luck. He fell asleep to the sound of Abel’s breathing, even and sure.

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE TO WRITE A BIGGER FIC THATS CENTRAL THEME IS BIG SPOON DORIAN. big spoon dorian and lil spoon adaar means So Much To Me. i'm gonna kick myself in the face. betad by CherryMilkshake once again!


End file.
